


Getting to the Point

by psychoadept



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-19
Updated: 2008-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychoadept/pseuds/psychoadept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Season 7, shortly after "Lies My Parents Told Me." It's been three years. Maybe they've both changed.</p><p>The title comes from Call and Answer by the Barenaked Ladies, which I had playing on repeat a lot while I was writing this.  Lyrics at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting to the Point

When Giles opened his eyes to find Ethan Rayne sitting on the edge of his bed, he made the obvious assumption. Apparitions of Jenny had been disturbing his sleep for weeks; apparently The First had decided to try a new guise.

"Bit of a one-hit wonder, aren't you?" he grumbled, turning to face the other way. "One dead lover's the same to me as another."

It wasn't entirely true. He hadn't been sure that Ethan was dead, had harbored the deep, secret hope that he'd escaped the Initiative--not immediately, perhaps, but once he'd had a few days to reflect on the error of his ways. Ethan was too powerful a sorcerer for the Initiative to hold for long, surely. But Giles hadn't heard from him since, hadn't turned up more than rumors when he'd become concerned enough to go looking, and that made him doubt. As time dragged by and still there was no word, he'd told himself that there was no point living in denial anymore. Ethan was...

"Dead? I think I would have noticed if I'd died."

It hurt, hearing that familiar, droll voice, knowing that it wasn't real. Knowing that he'd never see the real Ethan again, never have to deal with the aggravation of his asinine, dangerous, bloody brilliant pranks again—and it was partly his own fault. An error in judgement, made in a moment of anger, that he'd give almost anything to be able to take back.

"Oh, come on, Ripper," the apparition continued. "I go to all the trouble of tracking you down, while you're flitting all over the world doing God knows what, and when you finally stay in one spot long enough for me to come and visit, this is the reception I get?"

It was trying to give him false hope. Best to nip it in the bud, get this over with now rather than let himself be drawn into its game.

"Enough." Giles sat up and swung his hand out towards the figure. "If you were really Ethan, I wouldn't be able to--"

"Ow! You've always been able to hit me, you berk," Ethan said, rubbing his shoulder where Giles had struck him. "Like doing it a little much, too, if you ask me."

Giles barely registered Ethan's words. He was staring at his hand where it throbbed from the unexpected impact. Ethan was solid.

Ethan was solid, which meant that he wasn't The First. It might even mean that he was alive. Still, Giles wasn't quite ready to believe his senses. The disappointment would be too great if they were wrong.

"Give me your arm," he demanded, reaching for Ethan's left wrist.

"You're not going to thrash me?" Ethan asked, arching his eyebrows as high as he could. But he didn't object as Giles grasped his arm and pushed up his sleeve, uncovering the blotchy scar where the Mark of Eyghon had been.

Giles rubbed the unnaturally smooth skin, just to satisfy himself that what he was seeing was really there, then turned his attention back to Ethan's wrist, checking briefly for a pulse. It was strong and steady.

"Would you like to see my passport, too?"

Giles' mouth twitched in spite of himself. He had to admit that he was being a bit absurd. Reluctantly, he straightened up to face the man he was beginning to believe might actually be Ethan Rayne.

"That won't be necessary," he said. He reached out to touch Ethan’s cheek. "It's just hard to believe."

"You're really on about this, aren't you?" Ethan said, with no hint of sarcasm. "You honestly thought I was dead. Why? More importantly—you cared?"

Giles looked down at his lap. "Of course I cared."

"Right. That's why you and your Slayer have made me feel so welcome in the past."

"Ethan--" Giles stopped himself from making an equally waspish reply. "Could we not argue, this once?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, all right. Not like I wasn't trying to wind you up half of the time, anyhow."

Hearing Ethan make such an honest admission left Giles momentarily speechless. Was it possible that Ethan had changed as much as he had in the past three years? In Giles' experience, Ethan was only ever on such good behavior when he wanted something. Which begged the question:

"Why are you here?"

Suddenly it was Ethan's turn to avoid Giles' gaze. "Getting sentimental in our old age, aren't we?" he muttered.

"Answer the question," Giles insisted, half-smiling.

Ethan sighed and studied his fingernails intently. "I heard about the Council. Thought I'd come and... make sure you were all right." He pressed his lips into a moue, looking at Giles out of the corner of his eye. "Aside from this delusion that I'm dead, you seem fine. Shall I go now?"

It wasn't the sort of thing Ethan would lie about. He'd never been that cruel. And though he seemed to expect an immediate dismissal, Giles took the question seriously. Seeing Ethan's angular profile, still achingly familiar despite the new lines on his face and graying hair on his head, was like finding a puzzle piece that fit one of the holes in Giles' heart. Yes, Ethan had put his life and Buffy's--not to mention countless innocent bystanders'--in danger several times, but at the moment it didn't seem important.

"I'd rather you didn't," he answered, finally.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Again, Giles took time to consider the question. "I've lost too many friends, and not just from the Council. It would be nice to find one, for a change."

Ethan eyed him skeptically for a moment longer, as though trying to find a catch, then let out a bark of laughter. "You aren't just sentimental--you're a downright sap."

"Perhaps," Giles acknowledged. He couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed.

His heart was quickly catching up to what his senses were telling him, that this was Ethan, that he was really here, alive, and against all odds they were chatting civilly, as though the ocean of bad blood between them were merely a puddle. He couldn't stave off a rising sense of elation, but it was still just possible that it was a trick, a disguise, or a dream, or that Giles was misjudging Ethan's sincerity and he had something terrible up his sleeve. He could think of only one more way to be sure, but it wasn't something he could do in good conscience without Ethan's cooperation.

"Ethan--" he began, just as Ethan said, "Why did--"

They smiled at each other reflexively. "Go on," said Ethan, waving his hand.

"I still need to be sure you're really you." When Ethan opened his mouth to protest, Giles held up a hand. "Let me explain. The First Evil--the embodiment of pure evil--is on the move against us. It takes on the appearance of someone who's died in order to interact with us, but thus far it hasn't been able to become corporeal. That's why, when you showed up, I thought you weren't real. The fact that I can touch you should mean that you're safe, but I can't take the chance that the First hasn't found some other way of tricking us."

"All right," Ethan said, though his eyebrows arched skeptically. "What can I do to convince you? Tell you something that only I would know? Such as how after you tried to seduce that Migniet demon, your cock was--"

In a high voice, Giles said, "Stop, I beg you."

Ethan smirked. "Begging, Ripper? I should exact a price."

Giles rolled his eyes, willing the flush to leave his cheeks. "Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing what information the First has access to. No. I think the only way to be sure is for me to feel your magic."

Ethan's grin turned sickly. "Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? What happened to courting? Seduction? Old fashioned buggery?"

"I know it's a lot to ask," Giles said. "But it's the one thing I don't think even other magic could fake."

Ethan looked away, fixing his eyes on a spot on the wall. Giles didn't press him, well aware that he was asking for an intimacy he hadn't earned. They'd been at odds now for more than half their lives; if Ethan refused, he would accept it and say goodbye again until the First was no longer a threat. He hoped it wouldn't have to be that way.

After a long pause, Ethan looked back to Giles. "Why did you think I was dead?"

The change of subject startled Giles, but he went with it. "You'd never gone so long without causing some kind of trouble before. I thought--"

"You'd never thrown me to the wolves before," Ethan cut in, crossing his arms over his chest.

Giles nodded, staring down at his lap again. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have let them take you."

There was another pause, and then Ethan said softly, "Look me in the eye and say that."

Giles raised his head, forced himself to meet and hold Ethan's gaze. "I said I'm sorry," he repeated. "We didn't realize just how bad the Initiative was at that point, but even so I should have thought twice before letting them cart off a human. Especially one I... hoped to see again some day."

It was Ethan who looked away first, without speaking.

"I looked for you when I moved back to England," Giles offered. "That's when I began to wonder if—”

"I've been lying low," Ethan explained. "Escaping from the American military tends to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"How long did they hold you?"

Ethan shook his head. "Long enough."

If Ethan didn't want to talk about it, Giles wasn't going to press the issue. But there was another question he was keen to know the answer to.

"Do you still worship Chaos?"

"If I say yes, what'll you do to me?" Ethan asked.

"I won't harm you, if that's what you mean.”

A smile finally touched Ethan's lips again. "But it'll annoy you no end, won't it?"

Giles' faint look of chagrin seemed to please him, and he continued. "Honestly, I've had to put it aside for now. As you may have noticed, Chaos magic isn't terribly low-profile. Still, it got me out of that prison. It'd be awfully ungrateful of me to turn my back entirely.

"I should warn you," he added, after a beat, "you may not recognize my power any more. The Americans changed me—some of it was intentional, some was just side effect."

"Oh!" Giles' eyes widened in surprise. "You'll do it?"

"Maybe," Ethan said, the corner of his mouth rising playfully. "Convince me."

Something tight in Giles’ chest loosened, and he smiled. "I think I can do that."

He shifted forward onto his knees, so that he loomed over Ethan slightly, and curled his hand around Ethan's jaw. There was an instant when something like fear flickered in Ethan's eyes, and Giles thought he might pull away. Then he grinned a small, impish grin and planted a peck of a kiss on Giles' palm.

Taking that as permission to continue, Giles leaned in and brushed his lips across Ethan's. It had been decades since he'd done this with Ethan and meant it. He wasn't about to rush. He leaned in again, teasing Ethan with a row of kisses along his upper lip.

Just as he was about to go further, Ethan put a hand on his elbow and whispered, "Rupert."

Giles pulled back so that he could look Ethan in the eye. "Hmm?"

But Ethan just stared at Giles for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing."

Giles hesitated, but Ethan's gaze held steady, so he moved closer and kissed Ethan again, firmly this time.

All Giles' plans to take things slowly flew out the window when Ethan's mouth opened greedily under his. He found himself laughing into the kiss at Ethan's characteristic lack of patience. Moments later, Ethan's hands were sliding up his back, under his t-shirt, pulling him down on top as Ethan fell back onto the bed. Conveniently, it put him in the perfect position to slide his knee up between Ethan's legs. That earned him a lusty groan.

Finally, Giles wrenched himself away, bracing his hands next to Ethan's shoulders so that they could look at each other while they both caught their breath. Aging bodies aside, it was as though the last twenty-five years hadn't happened. He shook his head and blinked to clear the stinging in his eyes. "I've missed you," he admitted.

"Have you?" Ethan asked.

"Of course. I… I doubt I would have been so cruel to you if I hadn't."

Giles had lowered his head, regret making it hard to look Ethan in the eye, so he was startled by the light touch of fingers in his hair. He glanced up and smiled weakly. "You know, if this does turn out to be some sort of illusion, I'll have made a complete arse of myself."

"Don't worry, you already have," Ethan said, smiling brightly.

Giles gave Ethan a dirty look, but let himself be pulled down into another kiss. His arms were tiring, so he rolled them into a more comfortable position, side by side. The kiss was leisurely this time, and they broke apart before they were winded. But when Giles moved in for more, Ethan pushed him away and sat up.

"Hang on."

Giles sat up too, gaping at him.

"This business about proving who I am—what does it matter?" Ethan asked.

Giles stared a moment longer, then shook his head. "What?"

"Or were you just looking for an excuse to snog me?" Ethan was grinning again. "Because I can understand the temptation, but you only had to—"

"No," Giles cut in. "Ethan--" This was the trouble with Ethan's mercurial moods; it was hard to keep track of what they were actually talking about. "What do you mean, 'what does it matter?'"

Ethan shrugged. "Well, to start with, if I were going to do anything nasty to you I could have done it while you were asleep. So, say we snog tonight, and I get on a plane tomorrow, and we never see each other again. What difference does it make? And, anyway, if you don't believe I'm me, why are you snogging me at all?"

"Because I want you to be you. To be Ethan." Giles shook his head again, briefly reminded of the time Xander had lured him into a discussion about time travel. He took a deep breath.

There were plenty of arguments as to why he needed to be sure of Ethan, all sorts of things that he could do that Giles wouldn't be aware of until later, even putting aside the possibility that this wasn't really Ethan—like turn someone into Fyarl demon. But Giles' gut was already telling him none of that was the case, which left him with only one answer.

He looked Ethan in the eye again, not wanting there to be any question of his own sincerity. "I do believe you're you, and that you're not here to cause trouble. I'm just concerned that my judgement may not be—that is, that I want it so much that I may be unconsciously overlooking evidence to the contrary."

Ethan gazed back at him with a sort of puzzled expression for a few moments, then laughed. "Ripper, you still astound me with your ability to find every conceivable reason to deny yourself what you want."

"I'm not—"

"Relax, darling," Ethan said, startling Giles into silence with the term of endearment. "I won't let you rationalize your way out of this."

Giles had the distinct sense that Ethan had turned the tables on him, though he wasn't sure what tables there were to be turned. He could have continued to argue with Ethan about his motives but decided there was no point. It had never been particularly effective in the past.

"Come on," Ethan continued, moving to the center of the bed and sitting down with his legs crossed. "I'll give you what you need."

He held out a hand and Giles took it, though not without a token eye roll at Ethan's phrasing. He crossed his own legs, mirroring Ethan, and took Ethan's other hand as well, completing the circle between them.

"How long has it been since you've done this?" Ethan asked.

"About eight months." Giles raised his eyebrows, knowing that wasn't the answer Ethan expected.

Ethan covered his surprise quickly. "Well, then. You're in better practice than I am. All right, close your eyes."

Giles did as Ethan instructed, concentrating on the warmth of Ethan's hands in his. When they'd shared magic in the past, it had rarely been so formal. It had either been the side effect of a spell they'd worked together or a natural extension of sex. Or both.

The first sign he had that Ethan was reaching out to him with magic was when goose bumps sprang up on his forearms and quickly spread to the rest of his body. Ethan was right; it was different from before. Magic was such a funny, finicky thing. A person's magic was as unique to them as their face, yet as inconstant as the shape of water, changing from moment to moment in response to everything from mood to physical health to other magic it came in contact with. Still, the changes were usually subtle, the core magic easily recognizable, just as a person's face changed with age yet remained basically the same.

This was more like someone who had suffered a catastrophic injury and come out of reconstructive surgery with an entirely new face. Giles remembered Ethan's magic as feeling like a surging sea, strong and restless but also smooth, enveloping. Now it felt more like an electrical storm, prickling over his skin and making his muscles want to twitch.

Giles gripped Ethan's hands more tightly and breathed as deeply as he could, working to keep both his body and his own magic in check.

"Sorry," Ethan murmured. "It's harder to control than it used to be."

"You're stronger," Giles observed in response. "What did they do to you?"

"It's complicated. I'll explain later."

They fell silent again, concentrating on what they were doing. The prickling sensation faded to a strong but pleasant tingle as Ethan managed to rein it in some, and Giles sighed in relief. Now that he could think more clearly, he relaxed and let Ethan's magic permeate his body so he could feel it fully.

It took a few minutes for him to sort out his mystical senses from his physical ones. When the coven had loaned him their power, he hadn't been trying to read anyone, just accept what was given him. This required far more attention on his part. Once he managed, though, the energy coursing through him began to feel more familiar. He recognized the essence of Ethan at the core, despite the weirdly electrical edge. His mind flashed briefly to Spike's chip, a half-formed thought, but he was too preoccupied to pursue it.

Satisfied that Ethan was himself, acting under his own power, and feeling no tremors of deceit or ill-will, Giles finally stopped holding his own magic back. It surged out to meet Ethan's, and they both gasped as they connected on a deeper level than they had in decades.

Giles was drowning in Ethan. Time had faded his memory of how intense this was, how the currents and eddies that seemed so faint when he felt Ethan's magic from without were like riptides once he was in them, dragging him deeper into Ethan and Ethan deeper into him, until it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. A whole spectrum of emotions crashed over him, his but not his, blurring together into a dizzying kaleidoscope that he couldn't begin to sort out.

Years could have passed before Giles came back to himself again and he wouldn't have known the difference. He dropped Ethan's hands and hesitantly opened his eyes. He could feel the echo of Ethan doing the same, and he didn't need to see Ethan's face to know that Ethan was as stunned as he was.

"You're different, too," Ethan said, in a voice that wasn't quite steady. Giles found he was so attuned to Ethan that he saw Ethan's words as much as heard them, ghostly shapes floating from his lips and vanishing into the air.

"It's complicated," he replied distantly, echoing Ethan because it was easier than trying to form his own sentence. "I'll explain later. God."

It was hard to get much more intimate than this, feeling everything another person was feeling, not just in the present, but the accumulation of a lifetime of emotion, older bits washed out and covered over by the newer but never entirely gone. Though there were traces of more recent events building up, Ethan was a mass of pain and fear, which Giles could only assume was the Initiative's fault. His fault.

Ethan must have felt his stab of guilt, because they spoke at the same moment.

"Rup—"

"Ethan—"

Ethan wanted him to go first, so Giles continued. "I'm so very…"

But he didn't have to finish the sentence, because Ethan could feel the sorrow in him. They stared at each other silently for a few moments, until Giles felt a flash of bitterness that wasn't his own.

"You could have come for me," Ethan said. "I thought you might. You and your little band of heroes always managed to save the day when my spells went off. But when I needed saving—"

"I honestly thought you'd give them the slip," Giles objected.

Anger, laced with amusement. Then resignation. Ethan looked down. "I'm sorry to say you overestimated me."

Giles stared at the top of Ethan's head silently, unsure how to respond. Ethan wasn't giving him any clues, physically or mystically. There was a terrible longing in him, but Giles didn't know what for.

"What can I do?" he asked, finally, knowing it was unlikely Ethan would tell him straight out, if he even knew himself.

Ethan glanced up, projecting conflict, resentment. More longing. "You could have checked," he said.

Giles opened his mouth to defend himself again, point out that he'd been a little busy--just saving the world a few times, grieving for his Slayer, nothing important--but he could feel Ethan tensing even before he spoke. He stopped and reconsidered. Reminding Ethan how inconsequential he was in the grand scheme of Giles' life wasn't likely to make him feel better.

Giles thought back. He'd sent Ethan off with the Initiative, assumed he'd be free again in a week or two at most, and hardly given it another thought until almost two years later, when he returned to England for the first time, after losing Buffy. It had finally dawned on him, as he went about his lonely routine, that Ethan had become conspicuously absent from his life. Even then, his immediate reaction had not been concern, but self-pity that his life had become so meaningless that not even Ethan took an interest anymore. It hadn't been until his second return to England that he'd thought to look for Ethan, and when all he could turn up were the vaguest of rumors, he finally began to wonder. But he hadn't dug any deeper.

"You're right," he said, finally. "I should have done. I knew something was amiss when you didn't turn up for so long."

It was the right thing to say. Ethan relaxed, though the longing was still there. Giles almost smiled with relief.

"Don't get too comfortable, yet," Ethan warned. "I didn't say I'd forgiven you." But his playfulness was returning.

"And what do I have to do to be forgiven?" Giles asked, matching Ethan's light tone, though he was perfectly serious. If Ethan wanted to beat him, or wanted him to make a public apology in front of Buffy and everyone, he'd agree--though possibly not to both.

But Ethan just smiled and said, "Fuck me?"

That wasn't it. Whatever Ethan craved, it wasn’t just the sex. Giles could feel it. He could also feel a strong thread of fear, holding something back. That was fine. Giles would play Ethan's game if that was what it took.

“All right,” he replied, with the same façade of insouciance that Ethan had put on, and leaned forward to capture Ethan’s mouth again.

This was the best part of a mystical bond: feeling your partner’s pleasure reflected back at you, multiplied like the infinite images in two mirrors. Ethan and Giles both groaned faintly at their first taste of shared arousal.

A frisson of something deeper went through Ethan when Giles’ hand curled around the back of his head, and instead of giving him another kiss, Giles found himself stroking Ethan’s hair, loving the way it seemed to go straight to Ethan’s core. As one, they moved so that Ethan was wrapped in Giles’ arms, his head resting against Giles’ shoulder. This time the shiver of satisfaction went through both of them.

Giles kissed the top of Ethan's head, then resumed playing with Ethan's hair. With the other hand he started casually but steadily tugging open the buttons on Ethan's shirt. When it was open to Ethan's waist, he slid his hand inside and let Ethan's reactions guide his touch.

Ethan stretched luxuriantly into Giles' caress, but despite the growing pleasure and arousal they both felt, there was still a vein of unhappiness in Ethan that was too distracting for Giles to ignore. He bent his head to whisper in Ethan's ear.

"What's bothering you?"

Ethan groaned and went limp. "You ask too many questions."

Since his attempt at preserving the mood had failed, Giles spoke bluntly. "There's something you want from me that you're not getting. I can't enjoy myself while I can feel that in you."

"Could break the bond; you won't have to feel it," Ethan suggested.

A knot of dread in his stomach, and Giles', belied his casual tone. Breaking this kind of mystical bond by force would leave both of them reeling for days; the fact that Ethan would propose it even in jest scared Giles.

"For God's sake," he said. "Why are you evading the question when you know I know better? Whatever it is, let me give it to you."

Ethan sat up and began to rebutton his shirt. "You can't."

"Why?" Giles demanded. Being able to feel Ethan's distress yet unable to allay it was nigh intolerable.

Ethan didn't answer immediately, just buttoned another button. "Guess I'm not much for one night stands, anymore," he said, finally. "Considering how the last one ended."

His words sent another stab of guilt through Giles. There was an answering pang in Ethan, but he didn't apologize for the barb.

"You want... what?" Giles wondered aloud. "A relationship?"

The instant the words left his mouth, he knew he'd found the heart of the matter. Ethan didn't speak, but he didn't need to. The maelstrom of emotion that broke out in him was strong enough that Giles feared being caught up in it, too. It was a few moments before he could be sure that the sharp ache in his chest was only an echo of Ethan.

He reached out and found Ethan's hand where it hovered on the next button. Ethan didn’t respond when Giles took it and threaded their fingers together, but the comfort Giles felt at the contact echoed back to him faintly.

“Why do you say I can’t give you that?” he asked, since Ethan’s internal conflict still seemed to paralyze him.

Ethan turned his head, not quite far enough look at Giles. “Too busy saving the rest of the world, aren’t you?”

Giles let his flare of frustration that Ethan still didn’t understand pass unspoken, though judging from the spike in Ethan’s physical and emotional tension, it didn’t pass unnoticed. It made it easier to control his temper, knowing just how little satisfaction Ethan got when his bitter jibes hit their mark.

“I’m not going to stop fighting the First, if that’s what you mean,” Giles admitted. Choosing his words with care, he continued, “But I… I wouldn’t be averse to seeing if we’re still compatible—if you cared to stay?”

Ethan’s hand tightened around Giles’, even as he snorted skeptically. “Wouldn’t your precious Slayer have something to say about that?”

“She might,” Giles conceded, wincing inwardly at the memory of his last conversation with Buffy. “If she objects to your presence, she can take it up with me.”

Giles’ assertion sparked something approaching glee in Ethan, who finally turned to look at him. “Don’t tease me, Ripper. You’d take my side against your Slayer?”

Giles chuckled, in spite of his grief at the state of his relationship with Buffy. “Provided you haven’t given me reason not to,” he countered.

For some reason that sent Ethan’s momentarily high spirits crashing down again. He tugged his hand free of Giles’, but his sudden upset seemed to be derailed when Giles’ concern reached him. For a few seconds, there was a negotiation faster and deeper than words, which left them both teetering precariously between hope and fear.

Ethan finally spoke again. “Rupert. Can you really promise me you won’t wake up tomorrow and decide you’ve reason enough not to take my side? The costumes? The candy? All that?”

"It's forgiven." Giles hoped his conviction projected clearly. "Can you promise that you won’t endanger anyone’s life with another one of your spells?”

Ethan smirked as though he were going to make a snide remark, but stopped himself. “Yes, fine.” After a beat, he added, “Spoilsport.”

Giles rolled his eyes, then giggled, inexplicably overcome by amusement. An instant later, he realized it was Ethan's amusement at getting a rise out of him. Their eyes met, and then they both dissolved into laughter, the hysteria of relief ricocheting between them.

"God, we're a pair," Giles said, when he could draw enough breath to speak. He wiped his eyes with a corner of the bed sheet, while Ethan rubbed his face with his hands.

"Are you satisfied now?" Ethan asked. "Can we get back to the sex?"

Giles waited a moment longer for equilibrium to return. "Let's."

There was nothing clouding Ethan's lust anymore save a lingering twinge of self-consciousness. Everything felt right. From the moment Giles' lips touched Ethan's again, instinct took over. He couldn't have said later precisely how their clothes ended up on the floor, nor when he went from nuzzling Ethan's neck to groaning loudly around his cock. Every devious thing Giles did with his tongue echoed back to him, which was hardly a discouragement. It was over in what seemed like an instant, a searing flash of pleasure and magic that left them both dazed. Giles fell back onto the bed, still licking Ethan's come from his lips and his left hand sticky with his own.

Neither of them moved for several seconds.

"Better than last time," Ethan muttered.

Giles hummed in agreement. His head felt huge and unnaturally silent without Ethan in it. Their bond always snuffed out in the moment of orgasm. He suspected the human mind simply couldn't withstand so much pleasure at once.

A few more moments passed in silence before Ethan stirred, reaching for a tissue to clean himself off. Giles took that as a cue and forced himself to rise.

When he returned from washing up in the tiny bathroom, Ethan was already sprawled under the covers, taking up most of the bed. Giles rolled his eyes and prodded Ethan with his knee as he climbed in beside him.

He paused with his legs under the blanket, poised to stretch out and put his head on the pillow. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"

Ethan peered up at him from the corner of one eye. "Do you want me to be?"

"Yes."

Ethan closed his eyes. After a few moments, Giles decided that that was as much of an answer as he was going to get.

His hand was on the switch of the bedside lamp when Ethan said into the pillow, "I'm not like you."

Giles left the light on. "What do you mean?"

"'m not a hero. I can't promise if this First Evil comes after me I won't decide Falstaff had it right after all."

Rather than try to respond, Giles combed his fingers through Ethan's hair. Ethan looked up at him sideways again.

"I'll be here," he said, then turned his back to Giles and spent several seconds punching the pillow into shape.

Giles turned off the light to hide his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Call and Answer by Barenaked Ladies
> 
> I think it's getting to the point  
> where I can be myself again  
> It's getting to the point  
> where we have almost made amends  
> I think it's the getting to the point  
> that is the hardest part.
> 
> CHORUS  
> And if you call, I will answer  
> and if you fall, I'll pick you up  
> and if you court this disaster  
> I'll point you home
> 
> You think I only think about you  
> when we're both in the same room  
> I'm only here to witness  
> the remains of love exhumed  
> You think we're here to play  
> a game of who loves more than whom
> 
> CHORUS
> 
> You think it's only fair to do what's  
> best for you and you alone  
> It's only fair to do the same  
> to me when you're not home  
> I think it's time to make this something that is  
> more than only fair
> 
> CHORUS
> 
> But I'm warning you, don't ever do  
> those crazy, messed up things that you do  
> If you ever do I promise you  
> I'll be the first to crucify you  
> Now it's time to prove that you've come back here  
> To Rebuild


End file.
